


Away Together

by CaptainTarthister



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gentle Kissing, Mutual Masturbation, Nipple Play, Post-LSH, Sharing a Bed, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22928713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: Barely escaping Lady Stoneheart, Jaime and Brienne mourn and recover in an inn. Brienne is traumatized by recent events and Jaime teaches her how to go away inside.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 32
Kudos: 160
Collections: A Song Of Ice And Fire and Game Of Thrones, Game Of Thrones Romance, Game of Thrones





	Away Together

**Author's Note:**

> The work you're about to read comes from a prompt from catherineflowers. She gave me the prompt to encourage me to write again but without the need to publish. It's still a struggle to write, primarily because it's next to impossible to silence what people might say about you based on your stuff. 
> 
> Well, c'est la vie. 
> 
> Thank you to my bestie bestest of the best catherineflowers!

Robbed of sleep despite the bone-deep tiredness, Jaime listened for the hundredth time tonight at the loud rustles and creaks from the wench’s side of the bed. Her movements caused his body to bounce slightly too.

He turned on his side, staring at the worn tapestry on the wall. He closed his eyes, bidding for sleep to come at last.

Brienne grunted and turned. Her movements were more pronounced this time, hard hips brushing his thigh. Jaime had to grab the headboard with his lone hand lest he slip. As she sighed loudly, he turned and glared at her nape and the hard angle of her shoulder.

“We’ve only a few coins, wench. If you’re going to just toss and deprive _me_ of sleep, we should have just spread a bedroll on the fucking ground.” He meant to snap but his voice faltered towards the end of the sentence upon glimpsing her bare, freckled shoulder. She faced the fireplace. In the fading light of the fire, he saw the spots on her pale skin.

He glared at her shoulder then turned away, drawing the blankets to his neck. Once again he closed his eyes.

“S-Ser.”

“Your whisper may as well be a dragon’s scream, wench.”

He heard and felt her move. Then her warm breath stirred the hairs on the back of his head. “I can’t sleep, ser. I-I _can’t_.” She sounded angry yet also helpless. The latter was highly unlikely. Even disarmed the wench had a thick skull to smash the enemy with. Huge hands for breaking bone. Thick, hard thighs that could rip a man’s head off his neck.

The last image made him stir under the breeches. He frowned.

“I still see it,” she continued. Oh. So they were having a conversation. He sighed but remained turned away from her. “They won’t leave me alone, ser. It’s worse in the night. They stalk my dreams too.”

He stilled upon hearing those words. He wasn’t surprised. Sometimes he still dreamed of plunging the sword into Aerys. He still heard the drip and plop of blood on the Iron Throne and down their steps. It was no surprise Brienne was haunted too.

“For all his faults, Hyle did not deserve to be killed,” she said, pulling at the blanket. They slipped to his shoulder. The movement pulled him to her as well, pressing his back to her spine. His ass to her hips. She was warm. “Lady Catelyn. . .she _was_ a monster but I can’t. . .she’s still the Lady Catelyn.” He heard her swallow, sniffle.

“But Pod. . .”

Her broken voice was like a sword to his heart.

“He was a child. An innocent. I swear to the old gods and new I would gladly take his place. And it took him so long. . .The ropes were tight, but it took him so long—”

It would be worse to close his eyes. He didn’t want to see that little boy’s limp body swinging from a tree. But there was nothing they could have done. Outnumbered, and him short of a hand, Brienne still fevered. It was nothing short of a miracle they survived.

So he turned and slipped his handless arm around her stomach. With the other arm he drew her close to his chest. She was big. A hulking mass of warmth and quivers, smelling of sweat, smoke, forest and old linens. Dried blood. She sobbed, the sound choked and pathetic. He pressed his face between her neck and shoulder, tightening his hold.

He did not know how to comfort her. Brienne was so strong even when in pain. She was so unlike his sister, who raged and wept as she fell to pieces over Joffrey’s dead body. He breathed against Brienne as he remembered Cersei putting herself back together first by stealing a kiss from him, taking the warmth and desperation of his lips.

Next she had clutched at him. Slim fingers dragging through his flea-riddled muddy hair. Her lavender scent drowning the smell of shit and sick from him. He had been the one to spread her legs, to know for sure he was home. She pulled his cock in her cunt to mend herself. Grief and exultation swept back and forth between them as they fucked next to their son’s body.

“You have to try.” He raised his head to look at her profile. The side of her cheek marred only by bruises faced him. “If you continue losing sleep over it you’re going to fall off your horse one of these days. Might I remind you you’re nearly a head taller than me and I’m short of a hand. I’m going to leave you in the dirt because I can’t fucking put you back on your horse.”

Brienne drew a sharp breath on his words. Jaime caught himself, realizing how cruel he must have sounded. He only meant to tell her to get some rest. That there was nothing to be done. Awake or not the dead would haunt her. She might as well try to sleep so _he_ could sleep.

“You don’t have to take me with you,” she said quietly.

“Seems you don’t do well alone without me, wench. Let’s see. You were thrown before a bear with only a wooden sword. Got half your face eaten off. Hanged. Your size and skill have barely protected you.”

“You lost a hand with me.”

“I’ve gained more than lost. Kept my vows to never hurt a single Tully again until that monster forced my one hand. A father laid eyes on his son for the very first time. Saw my sister for the unfaithful bitch she is at last.” He chuckled bitterly. “You want me to leave you? Only if you can guarantee your head won’t be slashed from your neck.”

She sighed, huddling under the blanket. Jaime cocked his eyebrow. Now he was without it. His sleep shift was high on his thighs.

“Brienne.” He realized his stump was still pressed on her stomach. “You have to try. You have to try going away inside.”

She let out a shaky breath. She was stiff as a board but the skin of her back, under her clothes, was soft. He bent his knee, his breath coming to a halt when it pressed the divide of her bare buttocks.

For in her distress, she had not realized her shift had ridden up. He didn’t know whether to alert her to remain where he was. If by choosing the latter he was going to break another vow.

“H-How?”

“Hmm?”

“How-How do you go away. . .inside?”

It was the first time anyone had ever asked. He remembered the first time it happened. He had been new to the Kingsguard then, proud in being the youngest made so. It had been his duty to stand guard outside Aerys’ door. That first night, he heard the mad king’s guttural shouts and Rhaella’s screams of help and protest. Flesh being abused. There was nothing he could do, he was told. Aerys was King.

He had never become numb hearing the abuse on nights he stood guard. Rather he learned to go away inside—far so deeply that to this day he didn’t know if he’d made his way back out.

“I don’t want to close my eyes,” Brienne whispered. “I can’t stop seeing it. And you keep telling the innkeep to water my wine.”

Wine made Jaime think of Cersei, and all thoughts of Cersei made him see red and bile to flood his mouth. He sighed, smelling the dried sweat from Brienne’s hair. She needed a bath.

“If you wish to be dragged by horse do tell me, wench. I told you. You fall off and I’m not putting you back on.” Annoyed at memories and the feel of her warm, supple skin on his knee, he suddenly turned away. He snatched a good portion of the blanket from her. “Don’t be fucking greedy.”

He thought she would fight him for the blanket. Or curl up against him because the fires were beginning to die. He saw his breath leave his lips in white puffs.

As he tried to sleep again, he felt her move. Thinking she was only turning, he was surprised by the sudden rise of the mattress when her she left. He sat up, thinking to yell at her this time.

His anger died in his throat as Brienne, mussed in hair, shift wrinkled, scarred face even uglier in the firelight, took some wood to feed the dying fire. He tried not to notice how standing against the golden light showed her naked form under the shift. Tried, but couldn’t stop staring at the shadow of the gap between her thighs.

They would be more purplish than the first time he’d seen them. Thicker hair too.

“You didn’t have to leave the bed.”

She put more wood. The fire seemed to reel back in a crown of sparks before hungrily eating at the wood. It began to grow into pillars.

“Wench.” He didn’t hide his exasperation.

She stared at him, looking forlorn. His chest tightened.

“Come back.” His plaintive tone startled her—he didn’t know how it happened either. He sounded pathetic, broken. Cripples always did, away from all eyes. Except hers. Her sorrowful eyes smashed his walls with just one look. One tearful look.

“Come. I’ll show you. It’s not going to be easy but it’s all that can be done, Brienne.” He meant to pat her pillow but ended caressing it instead, feeling her warmth, the dampness she had left. “On some days you don’t think about it. But it always comes back without warning. Come back. Come to me?”

She seemed to hesitate but began walking back to the bed. He swept the blanket to the foot of the bed since room was once again warm. She looked at him then the blanket with a mix of confusion and curiosity. Then she put knee on the mattress, the rest of her body. The bed creaked and groaned from her weight. He hoped they didn’t fall through the ceiling. He’ll have to leave the wench as payment.

He put the pillows up so they could lean on them. As she continued to stare at him with her big, sad sapphire eyes, he felt himself flush. He had not thought this through. She’d seen his cock, he’d seen and maybe even dreamed of her hairy cunt, but she was still a lady. The Evenstar’s daughter. _Lady Brienne._

There was no other way to go into it. He’d called her names. She’d though him the worst of men. They had barely survived a battle against supernatural forces. Hells, she had cleaned the shit off him, ass and all over. They had no secrets.

He realized the last thought with a mix of disbelief and pain. It shouldn’t be the woman with half her cheek missing who knew him inside and out. The golden days and silver nights with Cersei had blinded him for so long. He was no Warrior. Not hers.

“Do you touch yourself, wench?”

Brienne frowned. “Touch myself?”

Jaime coughed. “Yes. Do you?”

“Well. . .when I bathe. . .”

“Yes?”

“And when I scratch my back of course. When I put my armor on. Of course I touch myself. What does that have to do with going away inside?”

“That’s not the kind of touching I mean,” he said impatiently. “Have you touched your cunt? Played with your teats?”

“What? I’m not--” Her cheeks mirrored the color of the fire as she scowled at him. She should really stop doing that. As good as her heart was, pure as her soul, the gods might turn her away from Seven Heavens if she kept frowning. “Do you think me a whore?”

“No. It’s only natural to touch yourself. Are you telling me you’ve never done it? Play with your button?”

_“What button?”_

He groaned, meaning to smack himself with a hand. Instead his stump just brushed his beard.

“Ser, what button?”

“Jaime,” he snapped. “My name is Jaime.”

Brienne, still red, still outraged at what she thought his question had insinuated about her, continued to scowl. He sighed.

“Keep doing that, wench, and your ugly face will remain in that uglier scowl. Your good deeds shit because you’d scare even the Stranger.”

_“Brienne.”_

“Jaime.”

He waited for her to fling it. Kingslayer. Instead, her scowl melted. She turned away. Once again, he noticed her shift had ridden high on her thighs, exposing the cleft of her ass.

“There is no forgiveness for what I’ve done. I betrayed you to save Pod and it was all for naught. But I’d rather you call me names than ridicule me for what you perceive to be between my legs, _Jaime_.”

He couldn’t believe it. She’d made his name into an insult. Even Cersei had never done that. Cersei with her passionate moans and cries. _I love you I love you I love you._ Those words were ashes now, but they still burned in his memory. As did her lies.

 _The things I did for love._ Not only was it bitter but there were no arms to fall into. He was still falling, likely in an endless abyss. Punishment for flinging that lad. The gods had made it clear they would never cease collecting the debt.

Brienne moved, retreating further to her side of the bed. She bent a leg, pushing the shift higher and now exposing the entire cheek of her ass. It was purple and green, and in the firelight he saw more of those colors as well as pink scratches on her thighs and legs.

Springy curls also peeked from between her ass. Jaime wished he hadn’t kicked the blanket so far away.

“You have a button,” he said softly, looking past her hunched form towards the fire. “It’s between the folds of your cunt rather than inside. Your hairs are so thick it’s no wonder you have no knowledge of it. But you have one.”

“You speak of things I wish to know nothing of.”

“Do you remember the pleasure of swordplay?” He was wistful. “The first time you relieved an opponent of his sword. The first time you sent him kissing the earth.” Slowly, his gaze veered from the fire to her hair, the shell of her big ear then the deep arc between her neck and shoulder. There were scars too. Staring at it, his stump aching from the absence of a hand, he continued, “Nothing comes close to how good it feels. The anticipation of a battle. The song of kissing blades.”

Though she remained turned away from him, he saw her pale eyelashes flutter as she tried to look at him without being noticed. The corner of his lips quirked.

“You were my last. The shine in your eyes—” he caught himself. “What I mean to say is when you touch yourself, the pleasure and sweetness is beyond compare. Only swordplay comes close. A battle. And piled on over and over just to approach the rapture of your own hand on your body.”

Brienne inhaled sharply and began shaking her head vehemently. “I look not for pleasure. I deserve none. How can you talk to me about such things?”

“You wish to go away inside.”

“Ser—”

_“Jaime.”_

“A child, Jaime.” She sniffled, huddling into herself. The shift moved up again. “I have—I have failed. I thought to become a knight because I was too ugly, too much of a cow to be a wife. Sword and shield in exchange for needle and thread. Vows to find two little girls and bring them home—you charged me, and I failed. Podrick—”

“Hush,” he pressed himself to her, putting his handless stump around her waist. He tried rocking her, but she was too big, too heavy. Her sobs and quivers shook the bed.

“Had I gone back to Tarth. . .accepted my failure. . .Jaime, he would still be alive. At least forsaking vows is a choice. Failure—how to explain it? What peace or redemption is in failure?”

“Brienne—” he managed to turn her and was panting by the time she was sobbing against his neck. Her feet hung past the bed, and on the floor was the blanket in a pile. Her movements caused her shift to ride gather around her waist. He tried pushing it down. Instead the rough surface of his stump scratched her bare waist, making her gasp.

Gods, he was fucking useless.

She cried with heaving, violent sobs, fat tears. Where Cersei had lashed and her delicate bones rattled with rage under her white skin Brienne whimpered and showed her shattered heart. Jaime held her close, feeling her pain and also cursing the persistent twitching between his thighs.

“You go away inside not for pleasure,” he whispered against her hair. “You do it for relief, short as it is. To breathe. You need to break out of the water else it will pull you in. You touch yourself to remember you’re human, Brienne. When you go away, far away inside. . .maybe you’ll find the humanity you’ve lost. To know rather than just remember.”

He fisted her hair, gently forcing her to look at him. Her thick lips quivered. “Do you trust me, Brienne? Can you trust me?”

She blinked then nodded slowly.

Still holding her hair, he pulled her up to sit with him in bed before releasing the limp, sweaty hank. “You’ll need to be on my other side. We need my hand for what happens. Go.”

Brienne left the bed. As she walked around it, Jaime took a deep breath and said, “You have to take off your clothes.”

“Wha-What?”

“I’m doing it too,” he said, grabbing his shift by the collar. He yanked it off quickly, tossed it at her feet. She really did look like a cow—a cow with pretty eyes brimming with uncertainty and question, as if she didn’t know recognize the linen at her feet. But when her eyes drifted to his cock she scowled again.

Jaime let out a groan as unbelievably, his cock hardened under her scrutiny.

“It’s only natural. You’re warm and have a cunt. I haven’t fucked a woman for a long time. Don’t worry. I’ll find a whore at next light, so this won’t happen around you.” His smile was rueful. “With our luck she will pay silver for the Kingslayer’s cock. Be the Kingslyer’s whore.”

Brienne bristled. He laughed. “No distinction could be shittier.”

Looking in her eyes, he spoke in a tone that left no room for doubt and protest.

“Take off your clothes, Brienne. Then come back to bed.”

He didn’t know how he expected her to just do as he’d asked but she did. Pulled the shift over her head. He watched the worn cloth rise, exposing her hard, bruised thighs, the thicker tangle of pubic hairs, green bruises on her stomach.

Plump, sweet nipples on meager tits. The puckered, long scars of a bear’s claws from neck towards her chest. Then her flushed face and big blue eyes, messy hair. She clutched the shift before letting it fall right next to his discarded clothes.

He was courting the Stranger and danger should his eyes slide to hers again so soon. He stared at her cunt instead. A dirty-blond jungle, rough and springy rather than a soft pelt. His palm began to sweat.

“You’ve never trimmed the hairs of your cunt?”

“N-No.”

“Good. Only whores remove all hair except what’s on their head.”

“You need not tell me again you’ll never fuck me, Jaime. I understood the first time.”

He was grateful she was too busy getting to the other side of the bed to notice his cock twitch again from her words. She brought the blanket with her and he shook his head.

“We have no need of that. Not for a while. Come.”

So she dropped it back to the floor and finally joined him in bed. They stared at each other. Broken, wounded knights haunted by the blackest of dreams.

“Bend your knees and spread your legs. Do it. There’s only enough light and three hands between us to show you that button.” It was awkward balancing himself when he moved to sit on his knees between her legs. She shrank from him, drawing her legs tightly to her chest.

“Brienne,” he said, speaking more gently, “I need you wider.”

Big, crooked teeth chewed on her swollen lip.

He put a hand on her knee. “You will not yield anything you do not wish to yield. Nor will I take anything from you.”

“Do you touch yourself, then? When you go away inside?” She asked, slowly spreading her legs. His nose caught the wet, secret musk of her cunt. He swallowed, shifting his eyes to her thick thighs and knobby knees.

“There are other ways, but yes, I touch myself. ‘Tis the easiest.” His eyes fell on her cunt. Even in sunlight there was no way to make out the slit. “Or when my sister summons me—”

There was no need to finish. They knew what he meant.

“Has curiosity completely eluded you? What maiden has never tried to touch herself?”

“Precisely that,” Brienne retorted. “I _am_ a maiden.”

Her knees brushed the sides his arms. Without being told again, she spread her legs some more.

Every time he breathed, he smelled her. That musk. That musk laced with her sweat, and the note of something unwashed. It was no lavender, yet it was strangely intoxicating.

“Jaime?”

He looked back at her face.

“There is no lord, nor even a knight that would have me even should Tarth be strapped on my back. But I have no wish to dishonor myself just to silence the cries of the dead.” Her chin wobbled. “My father has given me much when I am least deserving. He doesn’t deserve a whore for a daughter.”

“Your hand will not cause you dishonor. And your honor does not begin nor end with what’s between your legs.” He put a hand on her thigh, and she gasped from his touch. He flattened his hand on the supple flesh. “Are you ready?”

She took a deep breath and nodded.

Without another word, he took her hand and placed it on her cunt. He glanced at her other hand, indicating it should join the other between her thighs. Her face was a splotchy crimson as she obeyed him, palms settling on hairs so thick and rough they rustled loudly.

“Do you feel the slit? Good. I want you to spread it. Spread it as widely as you are comfortable.”

Seven hells, the room was scorching. Jaime stared at the pale fingers carefully spreading the folds. He had never seen such a hairy cunt before. There was no way to see if she was open wide enough, but his nose detected the sharper note of her musk in the air.

But under all that hair, when he squinted just right, he saw the gleam of a flesh pinker than any rose. He watched her as he licked his fingers, noting how her eyes followed every glide of tongue around them. Her own mouth parted when he sucked the middle digit between his teeth.

“Your button is a sensitive bit of flesh,” he explained, his voice oddly husky. Lowering his hand toward her cunt, he continued, “You must wet your fingers first before touching it. You could hurt yourself.”

She nodded, reminding him of a squire making note of an attack position guaranteed to keep him alive longer. Except he had never had a naked squire.

Even without having to look, he found that little button. They breathed harshly as his middle finger pressed on the slick bit of flesh. Her hold on the folds of her cunt faltered as he pressed his finger on the button, wanting her to feel every whorl on it. By looking at her face, he gauged the kind of touch she might like.

His caress was first a whisper, a barely-there touch that still caused her nostrils to flare. When he shifted to rotating motions, his touch was firmer, and his finger came in contact with the inner, slippery flesh around her button.

She gasped, thighs closing around his hand.

“Do you wish for me to stop?” He rasped.

“I don’t—” she was breathing rapidly and was very red in the face. “I don’t understand—there should be no pleasure. I don’t deserve it.”

“Hush. Do you wish to drive yourself mad with your monstrous lady’s screams? Visions of Podrick’s little body swinging under a tree branch?” As he spoke, his finger lowered from her button to the dripping passage of her cunt. She let out a sob, hips suddenly thrusting at him, thighs falling open. With his stump, he nudged her leg further open.

Then he pushed his finger inside her.

Brienne shrieked, spine thrusting sharply while her big hands suddenly grabbed her pointy little tits. Her hips rolled into his touch, his plunging finger. He grunted, wishing for his right hand. His right hand _knew_ how to fuck. His left was a blunt, brutal thrust in her tight channel. He tried to gentle it, desperate to banish the distress on her face. He curled the finger while trapped in the wet heat of her, remembering how repeated motions such as this drew moans from Cersei.

Brienne did not moan. She grunted, eyes rolling to the back of her head. Mouth opened, revealing pink tongue. Her grunts were surprisingly filthy—filthier than the practiced whimpers of any whore’s. She sounded real. She was real.

And in the firelight, face soft and contorted in newfound desire, her scar a grotesque, cruel stamp of her near-brush with the Stranger, she was uglier. The ugliest he had seen but he couldn’t look away.

He did not wish to look away.

His breath was frantic, unsteady puffs of air as his finger plunged deeper and faster in the heat of her. She was slicker than rain. Hotter than summer. She would be liquid fire except for the punishing, heavenly way her cunt clung around him. _She could snap off my cock._

Fucking her with increasing urgency, he leaned toward, stump cradling her sweaty face. “Look at me,” he whispered. “Brienne. Look at me.”

She opened her eyes, her stare bleary and her eyes almost black. “This—this—I should be punished---not—not—”

Unable to bear yet again her refusal of pleasure, of the humanity so many men have tried to take by force, Jaime caught her mouth in a hard, hungry kiss. Lips and tongue mumbled in shock under his mouth, so he gentled the kiss. She tasted of tears.

A large hand wrapped around the back of his head. He jerked his head sharply, dislodging her hand but keeping his mouth fused to hers. He pulled away, oddly moved the stunned expression on her face before nudging at her arm with his stump.

“Your hand.” He was breathless. “Do you remember where your button is?”

She nodded.

“Touch it. Touch it like how I did. Touch it however you like.”

He pulled his finger out of her cunt to take her hand. It pleased him at how quickly she spread her cunt lips. From the wet tangle of curls rose her button, pink, plump and firm. Her inexpert hand flicked it too sharply, drawing a strangled cry from. He cradled her face, prompting her to look a him.

“Touch yourself. Go away inside. It will be alright. You will not be lost.” He kissed her again, licked her lips this time. Pulling away, he whispered, “I swear it, Brienne. Not with me. I’ll always bring you back.”

Another nod, followed by her head turning swiftly to the side when she discovered the kind of touch she liked on her button. Jaime watched, fascinated by the how the lines between her thick eyebrows tightened and softened, how rapidly her eyes opened and closed, then half-open. He tracked the necklace of sweat around her thick neck, drawn to the lone bead sliding between her tits, down the muscled plane of her stomach before falling in her belly button.

He wanted to taste it. Her.

He remained between her legs, watching the pad of her middle finger rotate her button, flick it. She was so open he could see the drenched, pink channel of her cunt, gleaming and ready for cock. For a moment he thought about sliding inside her. Taking her maidenhead. His cock hardened even more at the idea. Seven Hells. He’d never been in this much pain. He thought losing his hand was the worst.

Resting his stump on a sweaty, freckled thigh, he pushed his finger back in her cunt.

Brienne shrieked. Her finger drew frantic, dizzying circles on her button. Jaime fucked her once, twice, curled his finger on the third stroke when Brienne let out another shout, guttural and bloodcurdling. A cry not unlike the call to battle. Her hips snapped up, her finger still on the button, his curling and sliding out, pushing back inside when liquid suddenly gushed out and hit him right in the chest. Her other hand gripped her tit, pulled at a nipple.

Jaime was still trying to understand what had happened when he felt the familiar tightness in the small of his back. He quickly yanked his hand from her cunt to wrap around his cock. Panting, his eyes crossing, closing, he squeezed and rubbed his cock before directing his seed toward her stomach. Long jets hit her skin.

They stared at each other, sapphire and emeralds soft in the firelight, faces bathed in its golden light. Jaime collapsed next to her, the bed shuddering from the weight and force of his body. Brienne lay on her back, legs a wanton spread.

He licked his lips, still tasting her. He could still smell her cunt, but now laced with their juices. He glanced at her, eyes quick to fall on her wet thighs and his seed drying on her stomach. The bed was damp too, not just from sweat.

“We need fresh sheets for the bed,” she murmured, turning away to lay on her side. He looked at the thrust of her shoulder, the slight dip of her waist. “It would mean coin again. My apologies.”

He shook his head. “It will dry.”

Suddenly, he shifted to his side, driven by a desire so mad, so urgent, it was hopeless to fight. He smeared his fingers on the mess of semen and sweat on her stomach, collecting a dripping dollop he dangled over her lips. Brienne blushed but grabbed his hand. Full lips closed around his fingers, tongue slithering across to lick them clean.

Jaime feared he would faint. He did not expect her to be so willing. And eager.

He swiped fingers over her stomach and had her suck and lick his fingers clean a few more times she was clean. Then he got up from the bed to fetch the blanket from the floor.

It was heavy for one hand, but he managed. He spread it around their sweaty bodies but couldn’t cover either of them fully because it was a two-hand job. Brienne helped him by tucking blanket under her straightening the remaining portion around him. She made sure his feet were covered.

Facing each other again, Brienne asked the question that was the sum of her fears.

“What if they come back, Jaime?”

He didn’t know why he did it. Perhaps it was relief. Maybe the anticipation of uninterrupted sleep, a fire keeping them warm. He didn’t falter in grasping one of her hands. She had a rough, calloused palm but she was so warm. He turned her hand, palm up and pressed a kiss there.

“We go away inside,” he answered, seeing some calm in her eyes for the first time. “Together.”

A pity she had to close her eyes to sleep. He himself could use more calm, more of the blue, in the hopes of banishing his own memories and ghosts. Morning should not be too long, he thought. He would look in those eyes soon enough.

For the first time since barely escaping the monster that Lady Catelyn had become, Jaime and Brienne found peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Readers you asked, and here it is! Sorrow On Tongue, the sequel:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433682


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